


The Dreamer

by Whatwashernameagain



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: And Virgil is fighting for him like a possessive beast, Eco-terrorist!Logan, Hero!Roman, Hurt/Comfort, Logan is actually an adorable nerd, M/M, Poor Roman needs Logan's love, Remy ships him and Roman hard, Warnings above each chapter, but there'll be cuddles and protectiveness in the next chapter, the first chapter is basically Logan's manifesto, villain AU, villain!logan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatwashernameagain/pseuds/Whatwashernameagain
Summary: The Utilitarianist has chosen to dedicate his existence to maximizing the good for all living things by applying cold, impartial logic. Unrestrained by the shackles of greed or empathy, his supercomputer helps him expose the dark secrets of corrupt politicians, take out companies that destroy the environment and eliminate threats to the majority of life on earth. Unfortunately, the narrow minds of law-enforcement and their pretty, yet naive and outrageously dramatic pet - the Dreamer - fail to see the benefit of the decisive action he takes.Despite the irritation of his continued interference and foolish attempts to change his mind, the Utilitarianist hesitates to terminate him. Not even his logic can explain how he always ends up bickering with the shallow, idealistic fool. He is forced to come to an abrupt decision about him when the young man shows up at his door, drenched to the bone, hurt and scared.He is well advised to fear the villain who’s black-clad silhouette and cat-like, masked features put fear into the hearts of capitalists and politicians. However, the Utilitarianist safely catches him as he falls.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: rationalization of crimes, hints at homicide, mentioned acts of terrorism against companies/government facilities, anti-capitalist statements, described injuries, past assault, blood (gosh that sounds so horrible. I just try to think of everything)

_He’d_ chosen to call himself the Utilitarianist, the etymology of which was clearly derived from the Latin word ‘utilis’, meaning ‘useful’.  
_They_ called him a villain, but it was really all he was trying to do - be useful to the world. To succeed in this endeavor, he avoided stumbling around in the dark like the rest of those pitiful do-gooders subjecting themselves to their rules and laws to feel safe. Instead, he applied cold and infallible logic. Doing the math with the aid of his supercomputer and networks of hackers and supporters all over the globe, he calculated the actions that would bring the greatest amount of good into this world, i.e. pleasure, happiness, safety, the fulfillment of basic needs or simply - survival - not only for himself, but for the good of _everyone_ – Caucasians counted only as much as people of color, rich as much as poor, immigrants, men, women, non-binary, LGTBQ or heterosexual, criminals, disabled people, animals, the nature as a whole – to him, an entity that desired to live in its own way and whose usefulness factored into his equations.  
He was the ultimate weapon for the good of all.  
Yet, because those small minds did not understand the superiority of his logic, he was branded a criminal. A whistleblower. An Eco-terrorist. An extremist. Their small minds were clearly unable to understand that the feebly ethics they clung to disadvantaged most of the world. It was pure hypocrisy and ultimately cost them a better future. It frustrated him that they could not see that the loss of a few paved the way to greater happiness, undiscriminating against anyone. To fulfill this goal, brave actions were required. The media called him cruel. He called himself a necessity.  
His enemies were clear to him, chosen not by his own selfish passions or greed, but by pure, beautiful logic. Global companies disadvantaging their workers while earning billions for a few – free of taxes. Huge industrialists whose meat production empire burnt down the Amazon. Dictators who corrupted entire countries with their unending demands for more lavish riches for themselves while their citizens wasted away. Fast food chains that ate away the natural resources with their disgusting wastefulness, earning money on the back of animals starved of space and clean air. Government funded projects poisoning the water of people dependent on it. Radioactive plants secured so badly the surrounding hospitals were filled to the brim with cancer patients. Presidents who criminalized people for their skin, their sex, their religion or orientation. 

Usually, the Utilitarianist avoided unnecessary loss of life. Public acts of violence threatened to cause a brutalization of the human mind and thus cause more violence due to normalizing it by prolonged exposure. He preferred a more sensitive, elegant approach. Bringing down parts of the stock market specifically targeting companies that profited from child labor or exploitation of the environment. Cutting off the energy supply of entire sectors of a country’s industry that wasted natural and human resources with staggering carelessness. Kidnapping individuals responsible for acts of careless destruction to prevent their crimes. Strategically disabling crucial structures integral to the mercenary industries feasting on the helpless. Unmasking flaws in security systems meant to protect the citizens but spying on them instead or publicly humiliating dictators by exposing their darkest secrets online until the people dealt with them.

Yet, sometimes his equations pointed him towards more – decisive action. He was an instrument of logic, so he did not concern himself with the untidy business of doubt or regret when his computer suggested a high probability of reducing a great deal of suffering by eliminating a part of the equation that was a corrupt or cruel member of a government. Law enforcement had yet to agree to his reasoning. 

Despite any attempts to paint him as a ruthless monster, the people were his ultimate alley. No matter what they saw in him – hero or killer, the information he offered them was taken up by his supporters and gained momentum, tearing apart institutions and toppling CEOs and politicians alike like a wave of outraged righteousness. Ultimately, he believed the world would come to understand his superior philosophy.

The one thing _consistently_ standing between him and the fulfillment of his plans had turned out to be an outrageously insignificant detail, yet it was causing him more trouble than he could have possibly anticipated. This thorn in his shoe showed up at the most inopportune moments, predictably puffing up his chest in his ridiculous, unpractical costume, ready to boldly reassure the public before thoughtlessly storming in to hinder his plans with his irritating presence. 

Infuriatingly, his interference was usually accompanied by his incessant need to draw him into his foolish discussions of his motives, causing him to make grand speeches and appealing to his humanity – the idiot was actually attempting to change his mind. What a ludicrous idea. 

His adorning fans had aptly named him The Dreamer.

Dreamer indeed. A pitiful fool, clinging desperately to his ancient, deontological ethics with its rules that mustn’t to be broken at any cost. Why would he follow the rule not to steal and yet defend the greatest thieves in this world? What was the logic in preventing murder at all cost when this allowed murderers to cause genocides? He was a naive imbecile unable to see the greater picture. A nuisance appearing where he had no business being to throw a wrench in the well-oiled machine that was the Utilitarianist’s plan. Though one man could hardly stop the global operation that was his movement, he’d grown to be a truly irritating fly buzzing around his head, showing up at the most unexpected moments and just being such a _distraction_.

Many a times he’d foiled his operation with simple stupidity, like running into an already unsafe sweat-shop he was about to blow up in order to rescue the industrialist he’d tied up in the vicinity. He hadn’t even planned to kill the man, just to make a statement and perhaps singe his eyebrows. 

The worst, however, were the speeches. He knew very well how much the media loved him with his uniform accentuating his broad shoulders and his lush, caramel hair, his blinding smile and perfect, tan skin. He was a nuisance, is what he was trying to say. 

The Utilitarianist prided himself in his polite, calm manners, yet this – _man_ – brought out a temper he was not fond of. How dare this simpleton speak to him about right and wrong? Despite knowing the math advised against it, he found himself drawn into moral arguments repeatedly (the media called it ‘bickering’. How inaccurate. His supercomputer called it ‘flirty banter’. How _outrageous_) and had almost gotten caught by those strong hands several times due to his frustration. He found himself simply unable to refrain from correcting the man when his claims were just so utterly stupid.

He dreamed of a unified future where everyone could live in love and harmony and humanity would grow into its glowing, gallant potential, coexisting in friendship with nature and respecting the planet while creating a world fit for fairy tales. 

Ugh. Why would no one see that he was clearly delusional? 

Despite his illogical argumentation, he had somehow kept him from some of the more drastic measures his supercomputer suggested would be a necessity for the continued well-being of all – much to this computer`s ire. 

“What do you even have me for if you won’t _listen_, doll?! Am I a _joke_ to you???” 

Due to creating him in a joint, global effort, his speech output and ‘personality’ programming had been outsourced to a consortium of trans rights activist programmers online with a pronounced sense of humor. _Remy_ may have turned out to be quite superfluously ‘sassy’, as he had been told the word was, but he was the most advanced computer in the world. Unfortunately, the fact that he was independently evolving and learning had not contributed to the development of a more professional temper. He had no idea where he picked up such behavioral patterns!

Faced with the pressing issue of overpopulation, Remy had (repeatedly) suggested a series of actions that would drastically reduce the world’s population equally all over the world while causing the least amount of suffering. Considering the impending catastrophic food shortages, pandemics, extinction of a majority of species and global wars threatening to develop as a consequence of an estimated, cataclysmic amount of 10 to 12 billion people existing by the end of this century, the suggestions were logical, ultimately merciful to all and demanded implementation. 

“Not that you give an f what I suggest, gurl!” 

Which was patiently not true. He attempted to follow the disgruntled computer’s advices without prejudice. However, whenever he endeavored to put those plans into action or even considered it, something made him hesitate. It was like a bug, hindering his rational thought process. A pesky pop-up window halting his deliberations and muddling his convictions with banal platitudes and illogical rambling. 

A frustrated growl escaped him as he even considered it. The Dreamer was intruding on his mental solitude increasingly often with the memories of his wide eyes, predictably shocked at learning about the Utilitarianist’s latest plans, before determination lit a fire in his green eyes. His voice was like a constraining vice around his chest, forcing him to remember his outraged claims of rightness and kindness and chivalry and peace – foolish banalities standing in the way of real benefits for the world. And yet his arguments kept resurfacing in his mind, playing like a broken record. Hopes for unity and joint efforts and belief in humanity’s solidarity and such naive nonsense. Data had proven the probability of success for his hopes at about 8%. A waste of time. 

Despite his patient explanation of this fallacy, the Dreamer insisted on his futile attempts to convince him of a better way, at least when he wasn’t pretentiously judging him and promising his downfall while showing his handsome profile to the copious amount of cameras watching him. 

Thankfully, many of his actions were far too advanced for a simple mind like the Dreamer’s, which afforded him the ability to work in peace. The threat of law-enforcement was hardly severe enough to warrant his attention. Still, he had interrupted his work and caused critical failure to several of his more drastic plans.

Despite his interference, he had chosen not to make the Dreamer a target despite Remy’s less than subtle hints after their first interactions, since he was trying to be useful in his own way. Criminals and terrorist attempting to profit of the system’s flaws or praying on the weak were an issue the Utilitarianist was aware of, even if he had little time to devote to such matters as we worked on the grand scheme of things. Pedophiles were most deplorable, yes, but Remy could not devote his processor power to chasing every single individual. They had brought two sex-trafficking rings to light with the help of their white-hat-hackers and had, by making the addresses of the offenders public, dealt with a lot of them indirectly, yet a single kidnapping was a too small variable to devote any time to. 

The Dreamer had not been held back by any such duties requiring his attention. He had saved the child. 

Logan had not been able to forget the feeling of relief that had filled him upon seeing the footage of the tall man leaving the building with a bruise darkening his cheek and a little girl perched safely on his broad shoulders.

His feeling of almost-admiration was turned to grating irritation a month later as the Dreamer disabled the explosive devices under the off-shore oil drilling rig that was being installed close to a sensitive and unique constellation of coral reefs with the help of his clearly more intelligent side-kick, just to save the lives of a handful of industrialists inspecting the platform before its initiation. Ridiculous. 

“Every life counts, you ice cold villain! We must use our power for good, to protect and serve!” He’d cried, waving his arms grandly, sea-water damp curls sticking to his forehead, eyes alight with conviction. 

“You are confusing our purpose with the motto of the Los Angeles police department.” The Utiliarianist had informed him impassively, before blowing him off the platform with a gust of high pressure water from the oil rig’s own fire-extinguishing system. It had been more satisfying than he’d liked to admit. 

Exasperatingly, his incompetence actually managed to get him caught by one of the many individuals he had irritated. An assassin had built a grudge against the Dreamer after he’d captured him and handed him over to the FBI – who’d allowed him to escape through sheer tardiness. Only Remy had managed to piece together his whereabouts after Logan had mentioned his failure to appear in front of a camera for a solid two days. Leaving him to die in the hands of such an individual might have caused a significant amount of unrest and subsequent danger to the public-

“Suuuuure gurl.” Remy had interrupted his well thought out reasoning quite rudely, rumbling his processors with a vaguely slurping noise. 

“He’s important to you, Sweets, and I need to keep you functioning since you’re my computer-world-interaction device.” He’d claimed as he’d uploaded the GPS data.

“I am more than a glorified human computer mouse.” Logan had groused. 

“Suuure you are, guuurl.” 

Saving the Dreamer from his own incompetence was not a concession to his naive beliefs. No, certainly not! If anything, his wailing and warbling had caused Logan a headache as he’d dragged him out of the bunker, arguing the whole way. 

“Uhhng you’re such an impossible motherf- um mother_board_! Because you’re like a computer! Cold and emotionless!” He wailed, narrowly avoiding uttering a vile insult in his frustration. He prided himself on a hero’s impeccable manners, after all. 

_Why_ had he cared to save this man after all? Not because of the softly uttered gratitude he’d finally muttered as he’d bundled him into an intimidated police officer’s car or his wide, awed eyes as he’d materialized out of the shadows of his cell, perfectly adjusted to the darkness in his neck-high sleek, black suit and high-tech mask that made him resemble a nimble, black cat. Or the way his expression had morphed into a knowing, almost warm smile before their differences had made their tempers rise once again. 

The worst thing about him? Remy like him.

“He’s got a cute ass and a mouth on him, what’s not to like, babe?”

_Everything_. 

***

Rain was beating against the window in heavy sheets of freezing water coming down hard on the city. The air felt alive with crackling currents of lightning and rumbling thunder almost constantly growling like an ancient, rumbling animal. It was a particularly nasty day, perfect for what the media preposterously called ‘villainy’, which he did not intend to be involved in today. At all.

Logically speaking, it was a well-established fact that that humans cultivated a private life in which they shed their public image in order to indulge in rest and relaxation to ensure optimal efficiency. Since Logan was, per definitionem, a human, it should not be surprising that he was unwinding at home at a day such as this. In a fluffy sweater falling over his hands and hips, wool socks pulled over the hem of his sweatpants, curled up with a mug of cocoa in a nest of pillows at his window.

_No one must ever know_. 

He barely heard the knock on his door over the growling akin to boulders sliding against each other and the pitter-patter against his window. Remus, the three legged green anole he’d rescued from a research facility, issued a reptilian hiss from his spot in his terrarium, before darting back between the leaves and twigs once again to roll in the mud he inexplicably managed to create. 

Logan froze. No one had this address. 

He rose cautiously, silent as a shadow, and slunk through the house on light soles. None of his neighbors interrupted him after his cool manners had intimidated them with nothing more than a look. This was his fort of solitude he had cultivated carefully by laboriously subjecting himself to the ridiculous ritual of masking his face. And yet, at its door stood the Dreamer. 

Logan reeled back, dashing away from the closed door whose peephole he’d glanced out of to take cover against the wall. The knife coldly glistened in his hand before he’d realized he’d pulled it from its hiding-place in the umbrella-holder. 

What in Tesla’s name was going on? Remy was supposed to monitor the whole area via an array of cameras, motion sensors and satellite images. No one just _walked to his front door!_

“Remy, how did he get here?” Logan hissed through gritted teeth, trying not to panic. He was a decently trained in several martial arts, yet the Dreamer had quite a bit of strength on him. 

“How do you _think_ he got here, huneybun? By walking.” The sarcastic voice chimed from the vague direction of the ceiling, probably not even _considering_ lowering his volume. 

Logan cringed, freezing in expectancy of the door being kicked in. It was steel enforced, but with his sheer determination and brute strength, the Dreamer had managed quite outrageous deeds before. 

Breathing a sigh of relief as nothing happened, Logan resumed his quiet questioning. 

“_Why_ did you fail to stop him and alert me to his presence?”

“_Why_ are you interrogating me like a criminal, gurl? _How_ am I supposed to work like this?” Remy wailed in outrage, sounding very insulted indeed. 

“Remy, will you _please_ cease your willfully obstinate behavior and tell me why he is _here_?” Logan growled, almost at the end of his patience. How could the most advanced computer in the world be so woefully inefficient? 

“Cause he’s injured, missy. _Obviously_.” The disembodied voice chimed, as if it were indeed obvious. 

Astonished, Logan dashed back to the window close to the door, pulling back the curtains. The Dreamer was still there, leaning against the side of the building in the middle of the freezing rain, drenched to the bone. His head was lowered as if he were close to losing consciousness. 

Utterly foregoing any logical deliberation for perhaps the first time in his life, Logan ripped the door open.

The Dreamer startled visibly, his wide eyes darting up at Logan a step above him, then to the knife that was still clutched in his white-knuckled grip. He was looking up at him like a drowned, frightened cat, caramel hair sticking to his ashen face, none of his usual Latino-tan to be seen. His broad shoulders were hunched over his abdomen he was clutching protectively. A pink rivulet was running down from his temple to join the blood welling from his split lip and dripping down his chin. His uniform was ruined with rain-washed blood and torn over his toned torso, exposing a bruised shoulder. Logan had never seen him look this beaten. His usually bright green eyes blinked up at him through rain-soaked lashes, apparently barely able to focus on him. He looked dazed. 

“Tesla, were you drugged?” Logan exclaimed, too shocked to adhere to their usual routine. 

The Dreamer swallowed visibly, apparently unable to form words. His wide eyes were wet with tears – washed away before they had a chance to fall. Fear was an unfamiliar look on his attractive face, yet it was clear in the bright flashes of lightning that he was afraid. He looked up at Logan, trembling with exhaustion and pain. His features twisted as he tried to hold back a sob that seemed painful on his torso. 

“I-” He gasped, swayed. “’M sorry, I – didn’t know w-where’ls to go-” 

His knees buckled under his weight. Awash with horror, Logan let the knife clatter to the ground and dashed forward to catch the hero who crumbled in his arms like a dead weight. 

Immediately, his hands were wet with icy rain and crimson blood. 

“Oh no no no.” Logan muttered, carefully cradling the back of the man’s head in his palm as he examined him. His skin was cold and almost void of color. With some effort, he positioned him in his arms to lift him up, ensuring his cheek rested safely on his shoulder. He had been careful to keep his emotional distance from this man as much as he possibly could, but as he looked down at his pained, helpless face, he could not think of him as anyone but _Roman_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting the terrible Utilitarianist and learning about his manifesto, we get to see the origin story of the Dreamer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing is a little rushed and unbetaed, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. I wrote it with love for you! 
> 
> Warning: internalized homophobia, republican brainwashing, manipulation, mentioned pedophilia, violence, threatened sexual abuse, critical comments on traditional values and capitalism

Young Roman was shaking with righteous anger. How dare this – this fiend targeted the company of his father? He was the hardest working man in the world! His idol, his hero! He was donating to charity, pursuing a career in politics to support the attempts of the republican party to protect this great country’s safety and now he had to deal with an investigation into the state of his breeding facilities! 

He could understand the wish to treat animals well, of course he wanted them to live a happy life, but his father was doing the best he could, he was a good man! The caramel colored Highland cow he’d given Roman for his twelfth birthday attested to that. It lived in a huge stable and was brushed daily and was still hand fed and braided by Roman himself. It showed how much his father loved his animals! 

And now this upstart maniac was terrorizing his father and other facilities of hard-working Americans and instead of catching him, law enforcement investigated the outrageous claims this terrorist had made against his dear father. It was victim blaming! 

Roman could not stand for this! It was gross injustice! He wanted to help, to support his father and show him that he could trust him! He was almost twenty now – a man – and it was time he finally managed to prove himself! 

Admittedly, he hadn’t managed to do a very good job of it yet. He lacked the sense for business and asked the wrong questions about wages for the workers and made stupid suggestions about the wellbeing of the animals that embarrassed his father in front of his colleagues. Shame rose into Roman’s cheeks as he remembered his silly question about fencing in a meadow for their calves in their Laredo facility to play in with their mothers. He’d just remembered how much Nugget had always enjoyed jumping around with them. Of course he should have known they needed to be separated from their mothers after the first day to avoid losing the milk they sold. It was necessary, he guessed. So they’d said. 

He really knew nothing about business. 

His father had it hard with him. He was the only child of the family, the only hope to continue their empire, yet he lacked a sense of ruthlessness a strong man needed to improve the world. He was a bad hunter, had the wrong interests, sometimes he spoke too softly, sometimes too loudly, or too effeminately, and somehow couldn’t bring himself to fit in with his peers. All he wanted was to make his father proud, though! There must be something he could do to stop this maniac from causing more trouble! He’d shown up out of nowhere, disabling factories and leaving made up accusations behind and it looked like he was only getting started. 

Roman had one thing going he was good at, though. He was strong, brave and determined. Someone needed to put a stop to this renegade liberal, and it might as well be him. It wasn’t like all the other things he’d tried and failed at. This time, he felt a calling to fight the war of the righteous!

Astonishingly, his father hadn’t scoffed at him as he’d passionately pleaded his case. The paper in his hands had been filled with speculations about the black clad silhouette barely caught on camera. The elderly republicans rightfully arguing against him had been banished to page eight, pushed aside by the intriguing puzzle the anonymous terrorist presented. 

He’d looked at Roman as if he’d never truly seen him before. As if he was something of value. For the first time in years, the young man had his father’s full attention. It was like being in the spotlight he’d secretly dreamed of – bright and warm and exhilarating. He felt worth something for the first time as his father rose and walked around him, taking in his tall frame, filling in well from the workouts he tried to burn frustrated energy with, the sparkling, green eyes, the luscious curls, the strong cheekbones and attractive features. There was no denying that Roman was handsome. A figure to be displayed, as long as he kept his mouth shut. This time however, he’d found a tone his father wanted to listen to. 

Over the course of the next months, the extremist’s deeds grew more frequent. The liberal media was lapping up his speeches, stilted and uncreative as they may be. He seemed to be gaining support online as well – lonely, misguided souls as his father put it. His destructive agenda was threatening to destroy the moral of this good society and plunge them all into anarchy. 

There was no cause for fear, though! The good people of the greatest country in the world were once again showing why their resolve would not be stopped by anything. A revolution was on its way. 

His father had created a community of wealthy, caring American patriots ready to sacrifice whatever it took to counteract the threat to their traditional values. Their researchers were using the latest, barely tested military technology to strengthen their soldiers for the fight for America’s future. It would be a great risk they were taking together, but Roman, their first (and only) courageous candidate, would not back down from the challenge. 

They needed someone his fellow citizens could look up to. Someone who would stand up to the terror caused in these insecure times. Someone kind and strong and good to give them hope for a better future. A future Roman believed in with all his heart. Humans were amazing creatures! The feats they had accomplished awed the young man and deep down, he believed they could solve their problems together. He trusted their combined creativity, love and unity to save this planet in the end. There were problems his father always complained about they needed to face – terror and hostile foreign countries, leftist propaganda and the lying media trying to divide them, but he believed they could conquer the world and their fears if they could only work together instead of being torn apart by a monster like this terrible man! Roman wanted to unite the world. He wanted to give them something to believe in. He wanted them to know they needn’t be afraid, like he told them to. They could trust their government, their leaders, each other. Peace was a possibility if they only believed. And he knew he could give them this belief. 

For months, he subjected himself to test, procedures and surgery with no complaints. He saw no daylight for almost half a year as his father’s and his partner’s scientists, the people who worked for the Conglomerate, did their best to make him worth putting their faith in. His bones were infused with crystallized carbonium, his muscles strengthened with steroids and drugs and his healing capabilities increased with experimental stem-cell therapy. 

It was agonizing. 

It was glorious. 

Finally, Roman could be something his father could look at with pride. 

As he saw him again, months after being sent to the research facility (his father was a busy man after all), Roman had become someone worthy of carrying the name Prince. His origin story had only begun, though. The moment he was able to walk without obvious pain, his grooming for the media began. He wanted to get out there and stop the villain from hurting people as soon as possible, but he was given to understand by Karen, the leader of his supportive team of experts, that the psychological damage he was inflicting on America’s soul was much greater than the wounds he tore into their economy. 

Roman humbly accepted the choices of those smarter than him. He worked hard on his enunciation, his posture, his all-American accent, so they would deem him ready faster. The terrorist was growing more and more dangerous every day. His acts were growing more sophisticated, his public appearances increased from flashes of a tall, slender form caught by cameras, to manifestos read in a passionate, though clearly untrained voice over the internet. And now, he’d killed for the first time. 

Roman could barely be held back. The man who’d been killed, Richard Snyder, had owned the largest chemical production company in the world and had been blamed for the death of a large amount of people in Vietnam due to a herbicide that had leaked into the phreatic water. 

He’d also been a father of three girls and felt behind a grieving wife. 

Roman had been upset about the news of the many deaths overseas, but he also grieved for the people this terrible crime had left behind. Accidents were a terrible thing and he was sure Mr. Snyder hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. People were good and cared about each other in his opinion. After the public blame the terrorist had put on his shoulders before – there was no other word for it – lynching the poor man, the media reacted to the crime in a manner that deeply shocked the sensitive young man. Instead of condemning the horrifying acts harshly, they discussed the accidents that had caused the unfortunate deaths in Vietnam and demanded consequences to avoid such accidents in the future! 

Of course people needed to be protected, every life had value and had to be treasured, but to besmirch this victim’s life work, so soon after his execution – it left Roman angry and terrified for the state of the world he loved. He needed to stop this man, right now! He was strong enough to do it, why must they keep holding him back?

Tortured by grief and pressured by his need to prevent more loss of life, Roman pleaded to be allowed to do something, yet his team of intelligent, professional experts hired specifically to make him the best possible hero he could be, demanded he wait for the right moment. 

“You’re just not quite ready yet, dear. We mustn’t risk making the wrong impression with a young stallion like you.” Karen had told him gently, patting his cheek. 

He’d woken in agony after having his muscles cut open all over his body and suffered through a truly terrible withdrawal after a failed test of a drug that was supposed to improve his durability but had instead corroded the lining of this throat and stomach, yet nothing had ever been as difficult as enduring this waiting for Roman. 

Finally, after more than a year of changing and preparing him, of whittling away at the inadequate shell that had been Roman Prince, the odd, weak disappointment of a son, a new man was revealed to the world. A man who was confident, brave and kind. A man who spoke clearly and showed the frightened society the way to a better world. A hero. 

The terrorist was executing his greatest, and most terrible crime yet. He’d rigged a factory producing military equipment for the protection of their brave soldiers overseas with explosives. Painting himself as the vigilante and avenger of the suppressed masses in war-wracked countries, he’d given fair warning to the workers to escape, but had shown his true colors in the end after all. The board members of the armament manufacturer had been kidnapped and trapped inside the building to be executed for their supposed crimes of trading with dictators. 

It had been the day the terrorist had stepped from the shadows into the light of the cameras to blame his victims in person before they met their end. He’d exposed their alleged crimes against the helpless, suppressed minorities the weapons were used against – lies and exaggerations as his team had assured the young hero – and had finally shown himself to the world. Part of him, at least. Like a true villain, his body had been clad in a skin tight, black suit and his face had been masked from the light of truth and justice. He’d named himself the Utilitarianist. 

Yet, at his greatest moment of triumph, a hero rose to meet him. Stepping from the ashes of the detonated building, the Dreamer emerged, leading out the disoriented victims of the Utilitarianist’s terrible plan. Showing his handsome, young face to the camera, unmasked and alight with his passion for the defense of all that was right, he’s faced the other head on and finally gave the just and good Americans a hero to believe in. The time of fear and helplessness was over. He had risen from the dust of his nemesis’ destructive acts to beat him. 

Their battle, caught from every angle in high definition, had been dramatic and terrifying. The Utilitarianist had grown into a formidable enemy while Roman had been prepared for him. He was lightning quick and fought dirty, twisting out of his hold like a snake. Narrowly, the villain escaped the young hero.

Roman had felt defeated even as he’d stood in the rubble to be celebrated. He’d been supposed to put an end to the terror and lead the world he loved so dearly to a kinder, better future where people trusted and supported each other once again. He knew it was possible, he wanted it so much he ached with the need to bring it about. Hadn’t he suffered so much so they wouldn’t have to anymore?

Yet he smiled bravely at the awed masses and aided their attempts to secure the scene and calm the frightened onlookers. A hero must never show his inner struggles. He wanted them to know they needn’t be afraid anymore. He would fight for them. He would bleed for them and die if he had to.

Karen had reassured him afterwards. He had done well. The tone in the newspapers had changed. Everyone was looking at him and listening to his voice. He could give them the stability they needed. Interviews were planned for him and he was briefed extensively for all of them. He was to portray a hero that had chosen to fight on his own volition, because it was the right thing to do to stand up and protect the suffering people. He would be there to shield them from this terrible violence. There was no need to worry and listen anymore. The good, hard working people of America could sleep calmly and focus on their lives and families again instead of getting involved in the danger the Utilitarianism tried to drag them into with his ruthless calls for action. He was a threat to the love and kindness their country was built on and the Dreamer would not let him get away. He would take care of it all. 

Despite his wish to brag with his father’s great plans and the selfless efforts the other CEOs, lobbyists and republicans had invested, they asked him to never mention the Conglomerate that had created him and steered his actions. The public needed a legend to put their faith in now, they said. Not a bunch of old men bumbling about. Though he felt selfish when he claimed to be acting by himself with nothing but the help of volunteering patriots, he trusted their knowledge more than his own. Though the Dreamer was a great hero, Roman would not forget that he was just a young man trying to be good enough for his father’s love he’d failed to deserve before. 

In the coming months it became clear to Roman that catching the Utilitarianist would be no easy feat. Many of his plans were carried out in secret or committed over the internet, where his brute force had no power. Whenever he managed to face the cowardly villain, he rudely evaded his demands to bring this rivalry to a dignified end and attempted to ignore him like a fly buzzing about his head. The outrage! 

While his organization grew into a network over the globe, the Dreamer was left to calm the suffering public in interviews and entertain them with photo shoots for calendars and merchandise. Though he’d always dreamed for being a star and acting at a Broadway production as everybody’s darling as a child, he found the publicity work hard to bear at first. His team reasoned they needed to create a brand that represented the American values they tried to preserve. His fans would find it easier to act with the kindness he tried to preserve if they had an ever present, well defined idol. Saving the world in the age of Instagram and twitter worked differently than it did in his comic books. 

Chastised, Roman had deferred to their expertise. 

The Utilitarianist used Discord, Tumblr and the darknet the same way after all. Groups doing his dirty work popped up all over the web like toxic mushrooms. Roman was starting to worry there could never be enough magazine covers to keep up with his vile influence. 

In the face of such inspiration, it was hard not to be discouraged sometimes. Yet, he preserved. Tirelessly, he tried to remind the world of what mattered, using bold words to paint a bright and colorful picture of the future he truly believed in. A future of unity. They mustn’t lose sight of what mattered – standing together, fighting the hate the Utilitarianist spread with his extremism that called to simple solutions. To violence. Being kind was harder, almost impossibly hard, but Roman would not lose himself in hate, and he knew his fellow Americans wouldn’t either. Breaking the law and turning to murder would not save the planet, it would turn them into monsters. Many people followed his example and joined what generation z called _Team Dreamer_, yet even as Roman got to shake the hand of the president, he felt he was not doing enough. He should be out there, fighting harder. 

Even after chasing him for almost a year now, Roman felt those things as strongly as ever. He was right, gosh darn it! How could this irritating man not see the merit of a peaceful solution? Who didn’t want peace?! 

Finally, despite having been cautioned repeatedly not to get involved in arguments where his scripts couldn’t help him, he confronted the other with his anger. The wind created by the rotor blades of the approaching helicopter whipping at their clothes on the roof-top almost carried away his words.

“_Why_ must you be so _impossible_?” He’d cried, completely at the end of his patience while he tried to untangle his foot from the steel cable he’d caught Roman in. He wished he could stamp his foot in childish anger. The McDonalds headquarter? Seriously? This man would be the death of him! He’d kill him with exasperation. The unbelievably dramatic di- person had flooded the topmost floors of the almost finished new building with used frying oil through the sprinkler system and set it on fire. Roman smelled like fat and was covered in grease and ready to tear his own hair out. 

Startled, the villain had stopped in his tracks. 

Half turning to him and staring at him through the mask covering most of his pale features, he seemed to struggle to find the right words. His voice was as deep as he remembered from all of the horrifying videos put together by his team he’d watched obsessively, yet, it held an incredulous edge to it. 

“You can_not_ be serious. How _dare_ you refer to _me_ as impossible, you simple fool?”

Deeply offended, Roman forgot about his struggles with the cable and instead flailed his arms in outrage.

“I am not the one _constantly_ ruining everyone’s day by kidnapping people or setting things on fire or blowing up perfectly good structures or almost _drowning me in frying fat! _” He’d screeched. The ever-polite voice in his earpiece was quickly going from asking him to stop to begging him to. 

Flabbergasted, the Utilitarianist fully turned from the helicopter hovering above him where he’d usually would have swung his body up gracefully to make his escape. 

“I am not executing my plans in order to be a mere nuisance to you, you selfish welp. My organization is attempting to save the planet from the certain destruction our thoughtless actions are bringing about. You ought to return to your cameras to perform your monkey dance for the press and allow the adults to bring about the revolution we are in desperate need of.” 

_Monkey dance? _

Never, in his whole life, had Roman been this insulted. 

“You- you unbelievable, im_possible_, infuriating _villain_ – how could you dare to- _I_ am attempting to save the world! _You_ are trying to destroy it!” He’d howled, flailing uselessly with frustrated energy. 

His righteous claim seemed to rile up the terrorist even more. Taking a few steps towards him over the cement that was starting to heat with the flames beneath them, he jabbed his finger at him. 

“How do you manage to be such an _irritation_ while having _no understanding_ what it actually is I am doing? Your stupidity awes me!”

“_My_ stupidity?! How is it not stupid to claim to want to save the world and then divide it by causing fear and hate? Don’t you know how to be nice or are you just pathologically evil?!”

“Are you seriously insinuating you believe _I_ am the stupid one? You must have suffered a concussion during your infancy! I will not be lectured by a man who believes the world will be saved by selling topless calendars and who attempts to catch me in heeled boots!”

The villain’s rant was interrupted as a sneaker hit his head from above. His supporters were exasperatedly waving at him to climb into the helicopter they had been screaming over before the police managed to arrest them, just as Roman’s operator had frantically urged him to free his leg and catch the man standing mere feet from him. 

Needless to say, _Team Utilitarianist vs Team Dreamer_ was trending on twitter the next day, along with the hashtag #savetheworldtopless and #justpathologicallyevil.

Also, his poor operator quit. 

Roman felt guilty for getting into an argument and behaving unprofessionally, but somehow, he felt like it had also gotten him closer to understanding the other man. He wasn’t a faceless monster but a person one could talk to – if a truly irritating and rude one – and people could be changed. Roman was good at convincing others of his position. His bright, attractive smile, warm and sweet manners and his polite reasoning had brought plenty of people around. Despite the continued threat of an escalation between the Utilitarianist’s supporters and his opposition, most people still liked Roman. 

He brought the idea up at a team meeting, believing he’d finally found a way to work more effectively. However, he was turned down gently. They gave him to understand that he had misjudges the villain and that his attempts to negotiate with terrorists could have disastrous consequences. Chastised and feeling like a child make a dumb suggestion at the dinner table, he gave up. Still, despite his best intentions, he wound up arguing with the other again and again. 

Their rivalry came to a crescendo when one of their fights once again distracted both of them. He had no idea why this man managed to make his blood boil this much with his talk about superior logic and necessity. Necessity his ass. (Roman would of course never say such a thing out loud, but _still_.)

They’d gotten caught in their argument about the effect of the Utilitarianist’s crimes on the families of the victims – a topic that made Roman especially passionate – when a heated pipe transporting steam from a coal-fired power station burst above the villain’s head, threating to burn his skin right off. 

Acting on pure instinct, Roman had jumped the three meters separating them after the runway had been blown to bits and pushed the villain to the ground, shielding him with his body. He hadn’t even known he could jump this far, but he knew the painful burns over his back would heal on him. On the Utilitarianist, they would be fatal. 

He’d regained consciousness in the ambulance, learning that the villain had apparently carried him there. His sneer had chased everyone away. Before the police was able to gather their courage to apprehend the man who had become more legend than person, he’d disappeared in the shadows.

They had been fighting each other for almost two years now. 

While he recovered, his father visited him. He hadn’t seen him in months. Roman understood he was doing important work, though. It was alright. Sadly, his father had not been as pleased as he had so desperately hoped. 

“Son, I want you to explain something to me.” He’d demanded. Despite being the strongest man in the whole facility and a beloved hero, Roman felt like a frightened child immediately. 

“Of course, father.” He’d muttered, drawing his knees close in his sterile hospital bed. His back burned terribly, yet he showed no pain, like he’d learned. 

“What on earth were you thinking when you saved this terrorist? You had him where you wanted him. This could all be over but instead you’re damaged and he’s running free.”

The rebuke hurt sharply. Swallowing, Roman tried to explain his reasoning he’d never thought he’d have to defend. The place was filled with people who were supposed to support him, yet he felt entirely alone.

“Yes, father. I’m sorry. But… he would have died. I- I mean- the Dreamer is supposed to be a hero. He has to save people and bring criminals to justice, not-”

“You’re not a police officer, son. You have one task to perform, and that is not to save random people but to stop the Utilitarianist. You can’t kill him – that would make you look bad, but if you can’t catch him, you’ll stop him another way. This would have been the perfect opportunity. You need to decide if you have what it takes or if you weren’t the right choice after all. Next time this chance presents itself, you let this god damn terrorist die instead of spreading his filth from a luxury prison.” His father had barked at him before leaving him alone to fear losing everything he’d bled for. Everything he’d become. Without the Dreamer, he had no idea who he was. 

He’d hugged his knees to his chest and tried to breathe through the terror. 

He couldn’t stop wondering, though. Was this really what the Dreamer was? He’d tried too hard to keep the peace and catch the Utilitarianist when there were other things he could be doing. They’d told him to leave the crime fighting to the police. His image was the most powerful thing about him. Superman couldn’t concern himself with petty thieves either, after all. 

Wonderwoman would, he thought defiantly. 

And yet, the Utilitarianist had made him think. He hadn’t left him to die either. Could he be a hero that allowed the villain to die when he’d saved him in return?

His doubts wouldn’t leave him alone until eventually, he chose to do what he was most afraid of. He went against the advice of his team. 

He’d been sitting around for months, while the Utilitarianist had been busy attacking the Hong-Kong Stock market. Roman quietly wondered why he was never dispatched to other countries to help. His nemesis had stopped limiting himself to the States long ago. Just last week, he’d wrapped the Burj Khalifa in a huge, blood-red banner that apparently refused to come off as a statement accompanying his latest attacks against rich, emirate capitalists keeping immigrants as modern slaves and straining their buildings with their metaphorical blood. The following riots had filled the city for days. 

Yes, he knew America’s intervention was not popular and had couldn’t cause a diplomatic mess, but there were people there who needed him too! Perhaps his team was worried he’d upset someone by remarking that the conditions of those workers truly were less than glittery. 

He could keep his mouth shut though, if that meant he could help! For example the civilians stuck in a hostage situation in a bank in Mexico. There were children there, and a pregnant woman with her wife! The standoff with the police had lasted for two days already, with no end (or a bloody end) in sight. Finally, he proposed a tactical plan to his supervisors he was quite proud of. It would work, for sure! His ill-mannered, ill-tempered new operator Virgil had grumpily hacked the bank’s database and gotten him the floor plans as well as control over the security systems and cameras. He could be in and out in less than half an hour, dragging some hostage takers with him. The longer he’d uselessly chased the Utilitarianist, the more helpless he felt. His powers were growing every day Roman was idle. People coordinated and acted for him all over the world. Even without his interference, his idea was taking flight. Roman may be America’s darling, but he was growing more impotent and useless every day he spent as a glorified symbol of American values. This was the right thing to do, he felt it. He had to breathe new life into the idea of the Dreamer. He had to be a proper hero again. 

The idealistic young man felt like he’d been punched in the gut when his plan was discarded like a child’s idea once again. 

Being denied was something he could handle, he was used to it, yet this time, there was something different about it. Instead of the usual, fatherly patience and kind amusement at his misplaced enthusiasm, he was told off curtly. Without results, Roman was losing their favor. 

Feeling unsteady, he shuffled onto the cold light of the corridor of their underground base. Despite his terror of losing the place he called home, the reporting about the children held hostage would not stop replaying in his head. He’d been told watching the news would only upset him and he should rather rely on the updates they cut together for him, but he was starting to think he would only have found out about the situation far too late when irritated reporters would have asked him where he was when the children were shot. He couldn’t let it come to that!

“Slinking home with your tail between your legs?” The scathing voice of Virgil growled at him from the shadows. Roman jumped, startled despite his extensive training. He swore the emo acted like he was aiming to become a villain himself. He certainly disliked Roman enough. Despite trying not to show it, Roman had always dealt badly with being disliked. It made him anxious and insecure. He wanted Virgil to like him, despite his manners. 

Puffing up his chest like a proud peacock, Roman readied himself to defend his honor, when he noticed the disappointed slump of the other’s shoulders. Though he’d complained, he’d worked hard on their plan. A new resolve warmed his insides. 

“No. I’m not backing off. I’m taking a running start.” He’d promised, before striding down the corridor and grabbing a startled Virgil’s wrist on the way. He still needed that one. 

Leaving the facility on his own, without planning or permission, felt oddly like breaking out of prison. They had a lot of sneaking about to do, but once they were safely over the border, he felt… freed.   
*  
The armed robbers were no match for the quiet, cat-like stride of the trained hero. He caught one after the other, knocking them out with ease. This was far simpler than fighting a man like the Utilitarianist. 

Claudia, the pregnant woman, was in urgent need of medical attention, so Roman carried her out of the building in his arms. One of the little girls hung off his shoulder, pulling on his costume in awe, while the other hostages followed his tall form into the sunlight and flashing lights of the cameras. Surprised exclamations greeted them, before the crowd erupted in ecstasy. Roman barely managed to calm them. He hadn’t been greeted with such honest joy in so long, he was utterly baffled by their adoration. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was thick with emotion. 

“Fellow citizens of the world, I have realized that the time for borders is behind us! In these frightening times we must understand that our differences are mere illusions, stand together and give each other hope. Our love and belief in each other shall prevail over evil!”

“_Fuck_ yeah!” Virgil whooped in his ear. It was the first time he’d heard the other sound happy. 

Real, honest pride filled him. Finally, he was what he was supposed to be.   
*  
The atmosphere in the underground compound changed. Roman felt the shift, the tension around himself clearly and suffered it with disappointment. It was like being home again. A child whose childishness was barely tolerated. Quiet and shy and feeling unwanted. 

Despite the repeated attempts to impress the importance of following his team’s directions, he planned and executed more mission with Virgil. He was his one saving grace. Since he was actually starting to make a difference, the two men felt more at ease with each other. Though they were mostly bickering with each other, Roman had found someone to rely on. His fluttering nerves around the moody man calmed, allowing him to fall back on the safety of the Dreamer’s personality less and less. They were a team of two now, instead of the pride of the Conglomerate. It was alright. He was one more person than Roman used to have. 

The success they had encouraged him further. The Utilitarianist had published information about a human trafficking ring and left the rest to the public to deal with. How irresponsible! People would take it upon themselves to play vigilante and get hurt!

Virgil ran the data through his clever programs and determined the most likely targets for Roman. Together, they rescued a group of Philippine women from an armed gang, saved a child from the hands of their parents taking money from strangers to spend time with her and captured a number of members of organized crime selling kidnapped women to the highest bidder. All but one of their targets were apprehended within the week. 

The Dreamer became a hero again. His global popularity shot through the roof. 

The renewed attention softened his team and superiors to him. Slowly, he could feel their mood changing. They tried to support him in his quests. 

“You two have been doing such a good job on your own. But it’s about time we step up again and help guide you, dear. We can’t have you unintentionally support the Utilitarianist again and validate his message, can we?” Karen had told him kindly. Roman hadn’t considered the fact that he’d unwittingly cooperated with the Utilitarianist by acting on his intel. Already, people were taking up the idea of them growing to be a team. He was an idiot. His team could have prevented this mistake. 

Discouraged, Roman tried to follow their advice more closely again. He was truly glad to be back in their good graces and have their support again. 

“It’ll be alright, my gloomy friend.” He’d assured Virgil. “We convinced them of our ideas, now we can all be together again and avoid silly mistakes. We can do good things together!”

“We were doing good things, man.” He’d growled, hunching his narrow shoulders. Roman had sworn to himself to help him feel more accepted in the team. He’d never wanted anyone to feel as isolated as he had most of his life. 

To his horror, the mistake he’d made was developing a life on its own, though. The Utilitarianist was already a favorite of the LGBTQ+ community and soon consolidated his place by rescuing a group of gay rights activists from a Russian prison. The images of him pulling a pink haired woman into his helicopter while an androgynous person proudly raised a large rainbow flag billowing behind him was taking over the internet by storm. The Utilitarianist was becoming a gay icon and he wasn’t doing anything to contradict the claim. The outline of his masked image painted in rainbow, asexual, lesbian or bisexual flag colors was sprayed on walls all over the word. And because Roman kept being drawn into discussions, because Roman had saved him and because he’d now acted on his behalf, following his direct call for action, a lot of people had started imagining them to be more than they were. They were publicly ‘shipping’ them. 

Roman had been beyond horrified and humiliated as his sympathetic team had put together a dossier of the things people on the internet thought he’d do. They truly believed he’d subject himself to be the Utilitarianist’s pet or that the older man could overpower and capture him, tie Roman up and- 

He’d been unable to keep looking at the pictures and horrible, humiliating stories published for all to see. How could he allow this to happen? This was what people saw in him after he’d allowed himself to be experimented on, cut apart and be put back together and worked so hard to give them something to believe in?

Deeply mortified, he’d fled to his room. The dossier of sinful, deprived actions people thought him capable of was saved on his tablet and seemed to burn a hole into his confidence even as it innocently sat on his desk. 

A knock on his door made him flinch. He couldn’t be seen right now! 

Virgil had never cared about politeness, though. Letting himself in despite the lack of a reaction, he’d settled on the bed next to the curled up hero. 

“Hey. Um, so I saw the dossier.”

Roman groaned, hiding his burning face. He’d never even looked at porn, so seeing himself pictured on his knees, the villain’s hand in his hair, about to- oh god. This was out there. The Utilitarianist would see it and think- irrational fear of things he hadn’t ever considered the other capable of mixed with the humiliation and made Roman tremble. 

“It’s not like that, dude.” Virgil promised softly, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder. 

“What’s to misunderstand?” Roman growled bitterly. “I know you all think I’m not smart enough to understand, but there’s really nothing to mix up this time!”

“Don’t say something like that, man! You’re much smarter than they make you believe! They just want you to stop thinking for yourself!” A frustrated growl escaped Virgil. Pulling uselessly on the powerful man’s shoulder, he tried to get him to look up. 

“They showed you the worst of the kinky shit horny people come up with, but most isn’t like that. Shipping isn’t about subjugation and- and bondage porn. It’s about liking two people and rooting for them, despite any opposition. People just care about both of you, even if you’re on different sides. It just shows that most of them aren’t as black and white as they all say. They aren’t the perfect, traditional families on the cereal boxes and they aren’t the masked activists throwing Molotov cocktails either. They’re just people who like some of both of your positions and they like you and him and what they like most is the idea of you two burying this feud and stop fighting. They want what you want, when it comes down to it, dude. For the arguing to end and people to just get along. I’m not making this up, look!”

Finally, his energetic pulling made Roman have mercy on him and miserably and fearfully look at the tablet he was shoving in his face. If he had to see another drawing of himself struggling in chains while the Utilitarianist groped him he thought he might throw up. 

It really wasn’t like that, though. The Ecosia search bar simply showed the search for Dreamer/Utilitarianist and the pictures were… cute, actually. Feeling his rabbit fast heart slow down, he tentatively scrolled through the images. There was a photoshopped argument of both of them before the rainbow flag under the caption #married. 

Next to it, Roman spotted a dynamic he hadn’t found in the dossier at all. It was him, draw with glitter in his hair and perfect, gleaming smile, dipping the Utilitarianist in a dramatic pose. A flush was painted on the older man’s pale features under the mask. 

Beside it, both of them were drawn out of uniform, dressed like ordinary people with Roman in a lovely shirt and scarf and his nemesis in an honest to god sweater vest. They were strolling through a park, holding hands. 

Another picture showed Roman reclining on a couch, cuddling the other between his legs. The Utilitarianist was battling papers and a tablet and complaining about something while Roman was ignoring him in favor of the music playing on his headphones. His expression was indulgent. 

A large, detailed full colored digital painting divided in two halves portrayed the Utilitarianist on one side obviously arguing passionately in front of a wall of pictures, maps and red string while Roman stood on the other side, gesticulating in front of an equally cluttered wall containing cute postcards and balloons and a unicorn pinata. Again, #married titled the picture. 

He found an interpretation of their fights depicting them as a golden retriever and a sleek black shepherd, yapping at each other. 

Then, a picture of himself standing proudly before a group of happy, butch lesbians next to his nemesis who was accompanied by cute, femme ladies giggling and holding onto his arms. #lesbian.icons was scrawled sideways between them. Roman felt a surge of protectiveness for these women immediately. He was awed that they actually wanted him to be there for them.

A little smile lit up his features quite unconsciously. 

The pencil drawing on lined paper clearly made by a child showed both of them simply hugging. 

A t-shirt was printed with photos of them cut together before a bright, starry universe. 

Comic panels made their younger versions bump into each other at a college library, dressed as a football player and nerd respectively. 

There were screenshots on gray background about short, funny dialogues they never actually had. 

Roman’s gaze got caught by a digital drawing in soft hues. It was him, leaning over the villain, his hand cupping the angular jaw, kissing the attractive, masked man as the other melted against him. Both of them were drawn with such attention to detail, almost lovingly. 

None of the search result showed Roman degraded, captured, used. 

Aside from the one where he was dangling upside down, flailing at the villain who was apparently attempting to show him a detailed power-point presentation about his plans. Roman laughed wetly through the tears he’d been suppressing. It looked like something the arrogant know-it-all would try. 

“I don’t understand.” He muttered, glancing at his own tablet, filled with data carefully compiled for him. 

Virgil’s gaze was worried. 

“I guess there are things they’d rather you don’t see, for whatever reasons. Maybe you’ll let me double check the info they give you from now on, man. I get unrestricted internet.”

“Oh. I didn’t know the internet here was restricted.” Roman muttered softly. His head was buzzing. He huddled closer to Virgil, gazing at the images without really seeing them. He felt like everything he knew was shaken in its foundations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day and also make me write ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be the Dreamer, Roman has consented to giving up his safety, his body, his identity – even his life if he had to – but in the name of promoting the conservative status quo, the finds himself pushed too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a darker chapter, but Remy will crash the next one and make things bright and fun again, I promise! A thousand thanks to Spootilious on Ao3 or Sebthesnipe on Tumblr for being an incredible beta. Check out her stories if you want to have a good read :) 
> 
> Warnings: homophobia, internalized homophobia, republican brainwashing, manipulation, mentioned pedophilia, violence, threatened sexual abuse, injuries, being pressured into sex, nakedness, (you can skip it if you avoid the parts between # and #)

Roman cursed himself silently. He should have listened to Virgil. He’d raided an abandoned warehouse, hoping to capture the leader of the human trafficking ring that had gotten away when an explosion had buried him in concrete and metal pipes crashing down on him, bruising his skin to a bloody mess over his back. His earpiece had been crushed in the crash. He’d woken up in an unfamiliar location to silence in his ear and chains binding him to a metal chair bolted to the ground. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on the snarky, moody voice in his ear until helplessness flooded him in the silent dark room. 

He was underground, that much he could tell. A sort of bunker, apparently - and he wasn’t alone. 

As the tattooed caucasian man stepped out of the shadows, wearing a red baseball cap with white writing stitched onto it - and brass knuckles. Roman realized he was in real trouble this time.   
*  
The young man had grown used to bearing pain in silence, but as his blood dripped to the ground between his knees, coughed up from injured lungs, he barely managed to hold back the whimper of agony and fear. 

By his estimation, he had spent two days in semi-darkness being beaten, dehydrated and humiliated. The worst thing wasn’t the broken ribs and fingers though, it was the things his torturer promised he’d do to him once he’d beaten him into submission and received the information he wanted. 

Upholding his courage became harder and harder in the face of his hopelessness. He was cold and felt so, so alone. 

The man was taunting him again, describing in great detail the plans his clients had for him once he’s broken the hero’s resolve. Roman had apparently attracted a lot of attention. 

A movement in the pitch black shadows behind him drew Roman’s attention. A tall, slender shape was noiselessly drawing nearer. It was like a weight was falling off his body, along with his fear. His next breath was almost a gasp. Tears burned in his eyes. Somehow, he knew he was safe. 

The Utilitarianist – sleek and deadly - materialized behind the man while he was puzzling over Roman’s sudden, exhilarated, blood-wet laughter. A kick to the back of his captor’s knee brought him down hard on the unforgiving ground. With another blow, he crashed to the ground with a sickening sound. With the usual disregard for the wellbeing of his victims, the Utilitarianist stepped over the unconscious man. This time, Roman couldn’t find any anger about his coldness as the older man silently walked around him and freed him of the chains cutting into his wrists with a click of the lockpick. He was so relieved to see his nemesis he had to fight back a sob. He had the feeling if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop crying. The villain felt entirely unthreatening to him as he towered over Roman’s hunched body. He was familiar, like an old friend. 

As he silently helped him up and wrapped Roman’s shaking arm around his shoulders, the hero felt safe. They needed no words as their eyes met. The older villain’s were very dark, cat-like, behind the mask, and startlingly warm. The villain had never been this close. He smelled good. Clean, unlike the damp bunker filled with the scent of Roman’s blood. Somehow, the young hero was surprised to actually find himself a bit taller than the other. He’d always seemed sort of inhuman to him. Larger than life. 

A companionable silence settled over them as Roman unsteadily leaned on his savior to help him walk. He was feeling unusually bashful as he was almost carried along by lean muscle. The awe he felt sitting deep in his chest was a strange, bright thing. 

“I would like to say I was surprised you got yourself caught.”

And it was gone as soon as it had appeared. 

“Excuse _you_, I didn’t _get_ myself caught! And I didn’t know you were capable of doing something nice. Does it hurt to go against your nature?”

“You are being irrational.”

“And you are being a villainous menace!”  
*  
Being kind as usual, no one chastised Roman for not capturing the Utilitarianist while he was recovering. Virgil was anxiously pacing around the bed as he came to, guilty and confused about why he’d been unable to track his friend. The poor thing, he was way too paranoid. Roman did his best to calm him. 

Despite not being in trouble for getting captured, the rescue had gotten to the media and was fueling the theories about the Dreamer and the Utilitarianist - to a worrying degree. It bothered Roman, since it was clearly ludicrous that he would fall for someone so irritating and immoral, but at least now that Virgil kept him updated, he wasn’t so ashamed anymore. Yes, the implication of being in a homosexual relationship and performing sodomy with his nemesis, something he’d been taught was impure and went against god’s wishes, still made heat rise into his cheeks, but he couldn’t help softening towards the mostly harmless fanculture. The LGBTQ+ community, as far as he had seen it, was just so nice and sweet and supportive and he could see the affection that went into the art and stories. Most of the artists were young and clearly misguided. He couldn’t hold their enthusiasm against them. 

The Conglomerate saw it differently, though. 

“Sadly, the LGBT community is unitedly declaring their support for the Utilitarianist. It is about time we take action to prevent confusing the public with their sympathy for the wrong choices. We should all pray for them to find their way again, poor things.” Karen announced at the next team meeting. 

“We have set up a strategy to get the media back on track and remind them of the values we are trying to defend. Their allegiance clearly shows the damage their lifestyle has done to their morals. Wouldn’t you like to help people see a more healthy way to live, dear?” 

All eyes in the room turned to Roman expectantly. He sank down in his chair, trying to find words to explain what felt wrong about the statement she’d made. 

“Um, yes, of course. But-”

“Wonderful. Statistics show a worrying increase in the ridiculous idea that the Dreamer and the Utilitarianist might engage in an illegitimate, perverse affair. You want those rumors to stop, don’t you, dear? We would never allow him to damage your reputation this way. We are here for you.” She promised reassuringly, laying a manicured hand on his. 

“Oh. Thank you, Karen.” Roman mumbled. Yes, he knew everybody cared about his honor and was willing to defend it. They had worked so hard on building his image. Shame grew heavy in his chest at his carelessness. This was his fault. He hadn’t wanted to put people into this confusing position, he should have kept his distance. The fact that he wasn’t all that bothered by the shipping was probably making it worse. He was forgetting that his personal opinion wasn’t what mattered here. The Utilitarianist was still his nemesis, he was still killing people, and Roman could not allow his agenda to spread, no matter how much reluctant respect he felt for the man sometimes. Who knew – perhaps Roman had fallen into a trap he hadn’t even seen yet? Karen had implied that it went against the Utilitarianist’s nature to help an individual. Perhaps he had wanted to fuel the idea of them – together – in order to make himself appear more harmless to the good people Roman was protecting. 

Roman’s heart sank. 

“Of course, dear.” Karen waved off his gratitude. “You know this is what we do. You just leave the planning to us and all will be well. If you have a look in the file you can see that we’ve drawn up a plan to show the public the safe and right way of life they’ve been missing so they won’t be misled by disturbed fantasies again. They need stability and safety. We’ve been thinking about your wishes every step of the way and I think you will be very happy.” 

Flipping open the file, Roman found that the solution was called Susan. She was a white woman with blonde hair and cornflower-blue eyes. Upper middle class. Conservative. 

Raising his eyes to the crowd staring him down expectantly, he found Karen smiling at him brightly.   
“Oh, don’t look so spooked, dear. You are too adorable. We only want you to meet and see how things go. We want you to be as happy as possible after all. You’ve been working so hard and giving yourself up so completely for the cause, we thought it’s about time the Dreamer has someone there to support him. A little friend. Possibly a girlfriend, maybe?” She asked, raising her painted on eyebrows suggestively. 

Roman stared at her, trying to find words for the sudden fear he felt. Laughter about his shocked expression filled the room, then quieted and finally tapered off into awkward silence. 

“I… I need to think about it.” Roman had finally stuttered. Karen’s smile had grown forced.

“Think about it? But of course, dear. We just want you to have a coffee together, go on a walk. If she’s not the right one for you, we can surely find another lady friend for you. Is it the hair color? The figure? We are very flexible for your preferences. Within a reasonable limit, of course.” She soothed him, patting his hand again. 

A reasonable limit meaning white, Christian, conservative, born American, cis, heterosexual female, his mind supplied. Suddenly, he felt terrible. His stomach hurt. 

“No, it’s not- she’s perfect. Lovely. It’s all good.” He’d muttered, desperate to get out. Once he was finally back in his room, the men’s lewd jokes Karen had laughed off as men being men still fresh in his mind, he tried not to think about the disastrous attempts at dating women, of the many nights he’d prayed to god to make him stop having those terrible thoughts, about his fear of going to hell for his dreams. He’d thought he’d escaped the pressure of going out with women when he’d dedicated his life to fighting for justice. 

He buried himself under his blanket and tried not to think of her. This nice, normal girl, and about how wrong he felt imagining touching her.   
*  
_He couldn’t do it. _

He had tried, really tried. They had dated for a few weeks and he had been charming, chivalrous and respectful. Karen had set up a public date soon after their first meeting. Just a coffee in a little café as she’d promised. The reporters had been lurking around outside, blinding him with their flashing cameras as he’d bravely smiled at Susan and obediently told her she was beautiful. She’d blushed delicately and giggled. She was nice. She listened to him and fit under his arm and looked pretty in the pictures with her knee-length flowery dress and soft pink cardigan. Even the pearls around her neck fit the image of the perfect young lady. 

They met several times and just talked or took walks, the “discreet” reporters never far away. The public liked them. They looked good together. 

She listened to him, too. And she was so very kind to him. Whatever he said made her laugh to the point of Roman fearing she was just indulging him because she thought he was boring. She was nice like that, supporting him and paying attention to him and all that. Roman tried to do the same. She was so sweet, he wanted her to be comfortable. This situation must be difficult for her too. She must be used to men being more confident and… just better, around her. 

It certainly was difficult for Roman. The entire time they spent on their first dates, his heart raced in his chest and his hands wouldn’t stop sweating. He felt too big for his skin. Uncomfortable. As if she or the people watching him would suddenly start accusing him of lying. 

His breath hitched as she took his hand for the first time. A flush of discomfort and shame rose to his cheeks. He had never performed this badly in public! She must feel how clammy his hands were and be disgusted by him. She never mentioned it, though, and just smiled brightly at him. Such a nice girl. Roman should feel better in her presence. She didn’t deserve this. 

Clearly feeling his discomfort, she offered visiting him in the compound and spending some time privately. 

Somehow, impossibly, Roman felt even worse without the constant murmur of paparazzi and cameras. He showed her around his little room filled with drawings and pictures of places with a view and explained the things he did down here to pass the time, but there was only so much time he could kill talking about his rigorous workout schedule. Eventually, he offered her the chair at his desk - the only one in his room - and settled on the bed, hunching his broad shoulders unconsciously. She sat down next to him instead. 

Nervously, Roman smiled at her, intertwining his fingers tightly in his lap. He didn’t know what to say. Should he compliment her? Tell her he liked her shimmering hair clip, maybe. But men weren’t supposed to notice those things. He would make her look at him as if he were strange and she’d be uncomfortable. He’d hate to make her feel as bad as he was feeling.

He startled visibly as her soft, subtly manicured hand settled over his cramped ones. 

“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” She asked gently. Her voice was low, understanding. Roman’s heart jumped as if she’d yelled at him, though. 

“Um, no I- I guess not. I’ve never really- with the training and all that- I’m sorry if I-” 

“Hey hey hey, it’s alright. No need to apologize. You were out there saving the world. I wouldn’t expect a selfless hero like you to be out and about with some loose girls. You’re not like the other men, are you?” She said softly. 

Roman’s heart missed a beat. Was she criticizing him? Had he given himself away? He knew he was acting all wrong, but he didn’t know how to unwind. 

‘Pull yourself together, Roman. Every other man would want to be in your position.’ He chastised himself harshly.

Susan was smiling, though. She was still rubbing his hands soothingly. 

“I think it’s really sweet that you’re so nervous. Other men would have already tried to kiss me or get me in bed with them.” 

Scandalized, Roman sat up straighter. Had she been worried he’d try to do that to her? Had he given her that impression?

“Susan, I promise I would never try to do that! I wouldn’t ever want to touch you without your permission! You don’t have to worry about that, I respect you way too much to push you into anything!” He promised, hoping she’d understand that she was perfectly safe with him. The last thing he’d ever wanted was to be one of those men joking about women and grabbing them or make them feel less. Women were strong and brave and wonderful and he only wanted the best for them!

Hearing his earnest assurance, her smile suddenly seemed more real. She squeezed his hands.   
#  
“Okay. Permission granted.” She whispered. Then, she kissed him. 

Stunned, Roman froze as her lips were pressed to his. They were slick with artificially sweet lip-gloss.

She pulled back after a moment, giggling at his baffled expression. 

“It’s alright, Roman. I want to do this. Just lean back and unwind. I’ll show you how nice it can be.” She purred. The hands pushing against his shoulders were much smaller than his own, yet they seemed impossible to escape. Roman struggled to find words as he suddenly found himself on his back with her straddling his hips.

“W-wait, Susan I- I don’t think-”

“Hush, it’s okay. I know you’ve never done this before. Just close your eyes.”

To Roman’s shock, her small hands were suddenly undoing the buckle of his belt. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Again, he tried to find words for the growing anxiety rising in him. He felt exposed and untethered and so terribly insecure. He didn’t want to be here. 

“Susan, please wait.” Capturing her hands, he tried to catch her gaze. “I don’t think we- we should do this. I mean- I barely know you and I wouldn’t- I’m not-”

With an indulgent laugh, she sat up. “Oh Roman, you are so sweet. I really don’t mind. And you need to relax. You deserve this. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself a little. I promise I won’t tell.” She winked at him, as if they were sharing a naughty secret. 

“Every man needs a little bit of TLC, trust me.” She added quietly, unwinding her hands from the suddenly lax hold. 

‘every man’

Why could Roman not just be like every other man? He should be happy. This was what every man dreamed of, wasn’t it? He was just wound too tight. She was right. He just needed to relax and… let it happen. It would be okay. This was supposed to be fun. This was what men did. He would enjoy it.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Roman let his head fall back against the pillow and tried to breathe through the anxiety cursing through his veins. 

His muscles wouldn’t cooperate, though. The sound of his fly being pulled down was impossibly loud in the quiet room. Roman’s thoughts were racing. What was he supposed to do now? Should he be touching her? Should he look at her while she… he didn’t even know what was about to happen to him, the insecurity was eating him up. 

He almost jumped when, for the first time, someone touched him through his underwear. 

Oh god. Humiliated heat was rising under his clothes and made him sweat. She rubbed him in long strokes before pulling his underwear down – he felt the cool air on his genitals – and enveloped him in her palm. His breathing was loud in the room, as was the blood rushing in his ears. 

He was still soft. 

Susan didn’t seem deterred, though. She started humming a soothing tune and pulled her hand with a firm grip on him up all the way from the base of his cock to the head before repeating the motion, harder this time. 

It hurt. A helpless whimper escaped Roman despite his best attempts to be quiet. 

For some reason, the sound appeared to encourage Susan. She stroked him harder, fondling the sensitive head of his cock with the circle of her fingers and – it was too much. Roman sat up suddenly and pushed her hands away. He fumbled to pull the blanket over his exposed genitals. His face was burning as his eyes were burning with tears. 

He couldn’t do this.   
#  
“I’m so sorry, Susan. I just- I can’t do this. I don’t know what’s wrong, it’s all my fault. Please- please don’t be mad.” He pleaded pathetically. He had never felt this small in his life. 

Susan, being sweet as she was, didn’t yell at him or even look terribly surprised. Somehow that was even worse than anger. 

“Don’t worry, Roman. It’s all good. It happens to everyone. We can just try again.”

The reassuringly spoken sentence felt like the final nail being hammered into Roman’s coffin. He couldn’t try again. He didn’t _want_ to try again. 

“I can’t. I’m so sorry. Please don’t feel bad about this. You are wonderful and- and whoever gets to be with you will be the luckiest man, but I can’t see you again. I’m so sorry.” Roman rambled as he stumbled out of bed. His fingers felt numb, barely able to do up his fly. He gave up on his belt when he realized the feeling rising into him with growing urgency was panic. He had never panicked, even when he’d been tortured and interrogated.

Roman was half blind with tears as he stumbled out of the room, not knowing where he was going until he was hammering on a steel door. 

Virgil yanked it open, shock written all over his pale face. He took one look at Roman’s disheveled appearance, the way he hugged himself, the open belt, and stepped aside to pull him in. 

“I’ll kill that bitch.” He growled. His expression was truly terrifying. 

“Virgil! You c-can’t call a woman a- a-”

Roman’s lungs suddenly seemed unable to draw in enough air. Virgil’s hands were suddenly on him, making him flinch. He didn’t try to touch him, though. Not like that. He just pulled him close, against his narrow torso and messy purple hair and told him to breathe. Clutching the person he trusted most close to his chest, the overwhelmed hero tried to match his breathing to his friend’s. 

“It’s okay, man. I got you.” Virgil whispered in his ear, running his hands over his back soothingly. It didn’t feel like her touch. Roman curled closer. 

They hid away in Virgil’s room all night, falling asleep with his head on his friend’s shoulder sharing the same blanket on the narrow bed. He refused to see Susan again, or any of the other women they tried to make him meet. He couldn’t go through that again. Since that day, he felt fragile and hurt, like cracked glass, barely holding together. If he was touched that way again, he would shatter. 

“It’s alright, dear.” Karen finally promised quietly. She’d tried to convince him for the last hour to see reason. He had grown tired of defending himself, unable to explain why the thought of being with another woman made bile rise in his throat. In the last ten minutes, he had simply stopped speaking and submissively let her talk at him with increasing frustration about being normal and his duty and other things he didn’t like repeating. He had no explanation for her. 

“Perhaps we’ve pushed you too far in the last few months.” She amended after a long silence. She sounded final. “We’ve lost focus on what really matters - stopping the Utilitarianist. That is the only goal we will focus on now. We’ll do what it takes.”

“Alright.” Roman had mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be happy to hear from you guys :)

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration to this fic came from a post you can find on my Tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/whatwashernameagain) and grew wildly out of proportion. They say you bring yourself into your fiction. Logan seems to have inherited some of my more irksome traits. He’s a too passionate know-it-all, so I’m writing him with some self-deprecating humor. He’s also weak for Roman and too willing to give him a hug, despite trying to look mean. I know there’s a lot of rambling about justice in this chapter, but it’ll become mostly fluff and hurt/comfort. And protective Logan probably. 
> 
> As always, any sort of comment makes me very VERY happy! I love talking to you all!


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